


In which Poppy leaves the Secret Association of Time-Travelling Philatelists

by china_shop



Category: Original Work
Genre: Best Friends Have Bad Ideas Together, Crack, Friendship, Gen, Rated for swearing, Time Travel, Time Travel Disaster OFC, Travel With Friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:41:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26318863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/china_shop/pseuds/china_shop
Summary: Even compared with the Chronological Studies Department, the Secret Association of Time-Travelling Philatelists was particular about not affecting the historical timeline: association members were only allowed to retrieve stamps that had been discarded, which meant rootling through rubbish bins, and that was exactly what Poppy had done when she began travelling on her own, but as time passed, gradually the rules had seemed more like guidelines.
Relationships: Adventurer & Best friend who goes with them for the first time (OW), Original Female Character & Original Female Character
Comments: 10
Kudos: 19
Collections: Friendship Flash Fall 2020





	In which Poppy leaves the Secret Association of Time-Travelling Philatelists

“Poppy? What are you wearing? You look like homeless Paddington Bear, and I can smell you from all the way over by the reference desk!”

“Shhh.” Poppy pushed her chair back from her laptop and tried to ignore the disapproving glances of the other, mostly white students in the study zone of the university library. Her huge fraying dirt-brown duffel coat was perfect — repeated washes had dulled most of the weed, must, and puke smells, though the improvement was offset by the fact she hadn’t showered in two days and wasn’t wearing deodorant. But perfect though the coat was, it didn’t really blend in here. “I’m trying a new tactic.”

“Bag lady? Really?” Awhina parked her shelving trolley by the periodicals and moved an empty chair so she could sit next to her and they could talk in undertones, pretending they were consulting over something on Poppy’s laptop.

“I’m going _travelling_. Bag ladies are discreet. I’ll blend in!” Even compared with the Chronological Studies Department, the Secret Association of Time-Travelling Philatelists was particular about not affecting the historical timeline: association members were only allowed to retrieve stamps that had been discarded, which meant rootling through rubbish bins, and that was exactly what Poppy had done when she began travelling on her own, but as time passed, gradually the rules had seemed more like guidelines. 

Her last trip, she’d snuck into the mailroom of an investment firm in São Paulo in 1952, intending to make off with their discarded envelopes, but instead she’d been mistaken for a corporate spy. She ducked into a duct, meaning to cut the trip short, only her lanyard had snagged in a crack and she’d lost signal. She spent three days on the run from over-zealous armed security guards, befriended a caterer and gate-crashed a wedding, and had a three-day fling with the bride’s younger brother and his extensive wine collection, until the prospect of being stranded got too much and she hitchhiked hungover to Campinas. The Chron Repair Station was in a side street, tucked behind a nail salon, and she walked in wearing her best hapless-post-grad smile, but the grumpy retired time-travel tech who staffed the place had squinted at her broken lanyard and asked to see ID. She’d had to bribe him with her souvenir bottle of cachaça before he’d send her back.

She hadn’t gone anywhere since, only partly because she’d had exams last week, but she was back on track now, and she was going to take it easy: hop to somewhere uncomplicated where she knew the language, ransack a dumpster or three, and return with a handful of midrange stamps. It would be completely uneventful. No events! She'd be a model of time-travelling comportment. Then, once she’d found her feet again, she could jump back into real collecting.

What she didn’t need right now was someone sowing doubts in her mind and making her self-conscious, even — or especially — if that someone was her best friend, the one person she’d told about her adventures. In her regular life, Poppy was studious, responsible, and the opposite of outgoing, so Awhina hadn’t taken any of her stories seriously. Honestly, Poppy hadn’t tried that hard to convince her. But if and when Awhina found out the truth, she couldn’t say Poppy had lied!

Only occasionally, like now, it would be great if Awhina would take some things on faith.

“You know, Pop, the time-travel stories were funny to start with, but when it’s turning you into a stink bomb in my workplace, you’re taking it too far.” Awhina folded her arms. “Why won’t you just admit you’re more Fay Presto than River Song? You’d look a lot better in a sequined tux.”

“Fay who?”

“She was a stage magician. That’s what this is really about, isn’t it? You produce stuff out of thin air and pretend it’s the fruits of your time-travel hijinks when it was tucked up your sleeve all along? Honestly, I love you, but it’s a terrible gimmick.”

“It’s not a gimmick.”

“Okay, then explain why the Chron Studies Department lets you use their time machine. I looked it up. Only post-docs and above are allowed, and even their trips are rigorously—”

It was tempting to just go. She could zip out of here and sit through the rest of the lecture when she got back, refreshed from her adventure. Or she could bring back conclusive evidence and cut the lecture off entirely. But Awhina was only giving her a hard time because she cared. Because the Poppy she knew was not the kind of girl who hid in ducts and bargained with alcohol. 

Well, and because Poppy kept travelling from the reference section during Awhina’s shifts. But that was just self-preservation: Awhina’s manager had sent her on a first aid course last semester. If Poppy came back bleeding, she trusted Awhina to triage first and ask questions later, no matter what Poppy was wearing.

Think of the devil, there was the reference manager now, bustling towards them in a cloud of Avuncular Helpfulness. Usually Justin stayed in his office watching ASMR videos; someone must have complained about the malodorous homeless person. If he found out what was really going on, Poppy would never get to time travel again, but if she didn’t identify herself, Justin would call a social worker or try to hook her up with the Salvation Army, and that would lead to a whole lot more sticky questions, and either way, she’d probably get Awhina in trouble.

The pitfalls of unconventional costume choices! If she’d been anywhere and anywhen else, she could have bluffed her way out with aplomb, but here at her own university, with Awhina, she was just Poppy.

Justin was six meters away and closing. Awhina was wondering aloud if Poppy should try online dating, or at least shower more, when she saw Poppy’s expression and broke off to follow her gaze. “Oh, hell. If only you _could_ get us out of here.”

“You mean that?” Poppy didn’t need telling twice. They could go, get their story straight, maybe pick up some stamps for luck, and then come back and face Justin together. She’d just been browsing easy destinations in the Chron Studies terminal emulator. Now she selected one more or less at random and clicked Okay. 

The **You have selected** pop-up came up. Enter. **Confirm time travel.** Enter. **Are you really sure? Is your lanyard secure around your neck?** Her lanyard was tucked inside her duffel coat. 

The students at the next table were openly watching the tall, pretty Māori librarian whisper-scolding homeless Korean Paddington Bear. Poppy caught Awhina by the wrist and pressed Enter.

With a regular lanyard, it wouldn’t have worked. They were designed to transport one person and one person only — according to reports, in the early days of time travel before the system was properly calibrated, someone from the University of Kolkata had taken their entire Chron Studies building with them to nineteenth century Greece, destroying half an olive orchard. The next few test runs had overcorrected and seen a series of travellers sent to 1990s Liverpool without their clothes. Things had come a long way since then.

But Poppy’s lanyard had been modified by her tech-genius ex-boyfriend so they could travel together, and when the familiar whooshing sensation washed over her, it encompassed Awhina, too. 

Poppy’s ears popped.

“What the fuck?” hissed Awhina.

Poppy sat up and assessed their surroundings. Most drop sites were discreetly situated behind office blocks in the target city’s CBD, which meant rubbish bins — that was how the Secret Association of Time-Travelling Philatelists had begun — and the Melbourne drop site was no different. As per protocol, it was early morning, before too many people were around. The streetlights were still on, it was freezing cold, and a rubbish truck was collecting from a building a few doors up. It’d be here soon, but there was time for a dumpster dive if she was quick about it. Or there would have been if Awhina hadn’t been on the verge of hyperventilating.

“ _Where are we?_ “ She sprang to her elegantly sandaled feet and looked around, stumbling away until her back hit the pebbledash office block wall. “ _What the fuck?_ “

Her eyes were huge, her face pale. When she got over her initial panic, would she be mad? Poppy’s stomach began to knot itself into norigae. There was a reason she kept her real life and her adventures separate.

“We’re in Melbourne. You said if I could—” Poppy caught Awhina’s glare and stopped.

Awhina took a shaky breath. “Melbourne? You said _time_ travel!”

“Uh, 1959 Melbourne.” The rubbish truck moved to the next building, the one next-door to where they were standing. Poppy tried not to care. There would be other rubbish bins. She focused on her best friend, who was justifiably freaking out. “Sorry! I thought you wanted this! I’ll take you back right now.”

She pulled out her lanyard and checked the signal. The lights glowed green. It was going to be fine. She just needed to—

“Wait!” Awhina spread her arms as if to encompass the city. Her colour had come back. “Wait. Buy me breakfast first. I can write it up for my food blog.”

“Are you sure?” Poppy hesitated. She was loathe to dampen Awhina’s enthusiasm, but s she’d learnt to her cost, there were rules for a reason. “You write that blog under your own name. You can’t announce to the internet you’ve been illegally time travelling!”

Awhina shrugged. “I’ll say it’s from my nana’s journal. Posted for historical flavour.”

“Oh. Yeah, that works.” Poppy struggled out of the smelly oversized duffel coat and slung it over her shoulder. “In that case, let’s go.”

* * *

Awhina wanted Greek food, but the only place that was open was a teashop serving rubbery pancakes and bad coffee. Awhina eyed the pancakes sadly, took some furtive photos for her blog anyway, and set to eating — and interrogating. “Start from the beginning. Where did you get that time-travel thingy? You don’t even take Chron Studies.”

“Hey, I was going to do Implications of Time Travel for Indigenous Cultures last semester, but I didn’t have the pre-reqs.” Poppy stirred sugar into her coffee, then glanced up and forced a smile. “Remember Luca?”

“Your Italian crush? That was only a couple of months ago. Of course I remember.”

“Oh. Yeah. It feels like longer.” It had been nearly a year in subjective time. Luca had been a Chron Studies post-doc, the one to show her how much fun travelling could be. They’d spent most of their six months together in the past, but then he’d found his dream job in late twentieth century Florence and decided to stay there. It still hurt to think about, so Poppy skipped that part for now. “Anyway, before he went back to Europe he gave me the lanyard and his login to the Chron Studies system.”

Awhina drummed her fingernails on the Formica table top. “Is it safe? How do we get back? I’m missing work, and ugh, I have two assignments due this week.”

Poppy showed her the lanyard. “You just press these two buttons together. The system always takes you back to the time and place you left, so no one knows you’ve been gone. We can go now and you can pretend it’s all been a bad dream, if you want.”

“A dream with breakfast.” Awhina had visibly relaxed as soon as Poppy said _same time and place_. She spread more jam on her last pancake, obviously delaying resuming her shift at the library. “So when we go back, Justin’s still coming over to talk to us.”

“Mm.”

“So how does this help?”

“Adventure!” Poppy leaned forward and did jazz hands. “Pancakes!”

Awhina huffed a laugh. “Okay. You do seem like you’re enjoying yourself — you’re like a different person. I still don’t get what any of this has to do with philanthropy, though.”

“What?”

“Your philanthropy group.” Awhina popped the last mouthful of pancake into her mouth, licked her lips, and at Poppy’s lack of response, corrected herself: “Association, whatever.”

The penny dropped. “Philately! It’s the Secret Association of Time-Travelling _Philatelists_!”

“What? You’re kidding!” Awhina blinked, then burst out laughing. 

Her hilarity was contagious. Poppy had to put down her coffee before she spilled it. “Why would I dress as a bag lady to do philanthropy?”

“I thought you — I thought you were pulling one of those ‘bless whoever treats the humble with dignity’ fairytale kind of stunts.” Awhina was giggling so hard, her voice had gone falsetto. She pushed her plate aside, folded her arms on the table and dropped her head onto them, her shoulders shaking. Eventually she managed to gasp, “Why would you dress as a bag lady to collect stamps?”

Poppy didn’t answer, mostly because she was overcome by the idea of herself as homeless Paddington Bear fairy-godmother, bestowing gifts on the deserving poor. The teashop man behind the counter was openly watching them, but he was out of earshot and she didn’t care. She’d never see him again anyway.

Awhina looked up, flushed. She had to take several breaths before she could speak. “You don’t actually dig through rubbish bins, though?! Your mother would die of shame.”

“That’s why you can never ever tell her.” An uncomfortable frisson ran down Poppy’s spine, and her mirth died in her throat: she never talked about her family when she was adventuring. That was one of the things that made it so freeing. But Awhina knew about both sides of her life — maybe Poppy didn’t have to keep them completely separate now. She wiped her eyes. “You know, we could still go find some rubbish bins. It’s not too late.”

“I’m not going digging around in rubbish with you. This is my favourite blouse.”

“No, it’s not.”

“It’s one of them.” Awhina tried to keep up a stubborn front, but a flash of concern broke through. “Oh, hey, do you have any Australian money? How are we paying for breakfast?”

“Uh.” Poppy held up the lanyard. The biggest downside of travelling illicitly instead of through Chron Studies was having to improvise when it came to paying for things — or not paying. If she planned ahead, sometimes she could bring currency, but other times she just had to tell herself that skipping out on the occasional breakfast here and there wasn’t going to ruin anyone; she tried to make up for it by donating to charity in her own time, as much as she could afford.

Awhina’s eyes widened, and the corner of her mouth twitched. “You are a terrible, terrible person! How did I not know that about you?”

Poppy's stomach started knotting again.

“And yet somehow I still love you anyway.” 

Poppy chewed her lip and thought quickly. “How about if we start a new association? The Unauthorised Time-Travelling Food Bloggers. We could submit anonymous reviews to the Chron Studies newsletter and drum up business for the eating establishments we, uh… I mean, I was never in it for the stamps.”

“Pay them back in publicity? But I have work. I have to study. I have to update my own food blog.” It was a weak protest.

“You have to take breaks,” Poppy told her. “Rest and recreation — they’re important for memory retention!”

Awhina snorted, but her eyes were dancing with mischief. “Okay, but not an association. You can’t have an association of two. How about a conspiracy? The Time-Travelling Food Critics Conspiracy. And I conspire that we go to Osaka next. You can pick the when.”

“That works.” Poppy grinned, feeling lighter than she had in months. “But first we have to go back and rescue homeless Paddington Bear from Justin. Do you think he’ll buy it if I say it’s performance art?”

“Try it. If it doesn’t work, I’ll distract him with library business while you make a run for it.”

“You are the best. Osaka is going to be awesome!” Poppy dragged her smelly coat back on, pulled out her lanyard, and reached across the Formica. “Ready?”

Awhina took her hand and held on tight. “Ready.”

Whoosh!

**Author's Note:**

> Much thanks to Cyphomandra, who did her best to help me wrangle this despite it not quite being her thing, and mergatrude, for fixing what didn't make sense and holding my hand through the run-up to posting. ♥


End file.
